Oh what a night!
by MLaw
Summary: Napoleon's plans for the evening don't pan out, and as usual an unexpected complication rears its ugly head.


"Jaysus it's putting cobbler's knives!" Sean Óg blurted out as he locked the door to the pub.

"Is that an Irish thing?" Napoleon Solo mused as he turned up the collar of his black rain coat.

"T'is. Here I believe you say raining cats and dogs," Sean laughed.

Solo was the last patron of the night and a regular at P.J. Clarke's Saloon. Tonight, being the last customer he helped Sean the bartender close up so the man could get home sooner. Wiping down the tables and gathering up the condiments, straightening the chairs and so on; it was the least Napoleon could do as Sean always took good care of him. The bar was closing earlier than the usual 4 am for last call; with the weather, there just wasn't any business.

Napoleon was surprised to see the place so empty when he first arrived, but the weather was awful, most likely keeping customers with any sense in for the night. He on the other hand had no sense as he'd gone on a date that ended up not going well at all. He decided a nightcap or tow at P.J.'s was in order.

Though Solo wanted nothing in returned, his help earned him a shot of twenty-five year Macallan whisky, on the house. It was expensive stuff, and one of the few places hw could find it, so he appreciated Sean's gesture.

.

"Are ye all right ta get home Mr. Solo?" Sean asked, knowing how many drinks the man had.

"I have a friend picking me up. How about you Sean...need a lift?"

"Nah, I'm fine 'tanks. I live right round the corner. The missus is waitin' up for me. Our youngest has the croup, poor lad. She's been running him under a hot shower in the bath, that should do well enough. If not it's the emergency room for us, not that we can afford that. Still when ye have wee ones, ye do what ye have to for them."

Napoleon pulled his business card from his pocket, handing it to Sean. " Hopefully that'll do the trick but if you think he needs to go to the emergency room, you call me right away and we'll take care of things...you understand?"

"Tanks Mr. Solo. God bless and safe home."

A black sedan pulled up curbside, and the windshield wipers moving back and forth, created a rhythm along with the purring of the engine. The passenger door was finally pushed open.

"Your chariot awaits my friend," Illya called.

"Good night Sean," Solo waved and watched as the Irishman head around the corner towards home.

"Burning the candle at both ends and no woman involved...are you feeling all right?" Illya asked as Napoleon sat beside him.

"I'm fine, though there was a woman involved; remind me not to take Sheila Murphy out again."

"Why? Too hot to handle?"

"No, but I'm just not that comfortable with a woman who can out drink me."

"Here?"

"No, at Tavern on the Green. We had dinner and drinks and more drinks, too many finally. I had Ernie the bartender there pretend I had a phone call. Told her had to leave and go check on my sick Uncle."

"And she believed you?"

"She was too busy making love to a bottle of scotch and flirting with the waiter. I paid the bill, gave her money for a cab and bid her adieu."

"So why did you come to this pub? Were you meeting another woman? You have me confused."

"No, not another woman. I just wanted to wind down and chat with Sean the bartender. He's a nice guy and a good contact. Some shady characters from the Irish mob visit P.J.'s from time to time."

"Oh, and were any of them there tonight?"

"Nope. The place was pretty much empty. Even the local bar flies were missing in action."

"Well considering we are in the middle of a bad...what kind of storm is it called again?"

"A N'or Easter," Napoleon answered. "I just hung out, had a glass or two of my favorite whisky, which is too expensive to share with the likes of Sheila Murphy, the way she pounds them back."

"So do you wish to go home or back to headquarters with me?"

"Headquarters is closer; I can use guest quarters and I have plenty of suits there.

"You really are a Boy Scout at times," Illya chuckled." You are always prepared, are you not?"

"I try," Napoleon yawned. "I take it things are pretty quiet back at the fort."

"Fort? What fort? Napoleon it is one in the morning, can you not just say exactly what you mean?"

"Sorry, I was saying things are pretty quiet back at headquarters."

Illya looked at his partner for one brief second, flashing him one of 'those' looks.

"If it was not, then I would not have been able to come pick you..."

 **BOOM!**

A taxi hit the sedan broadside, so hard that the black car flipped over, landing on its roof.

.

Napoleon woke up feeling as though every muscle in his body had been hit with a sledgehammer. He had a mother of a headache, but despite that he raised his head and examined his surroundings. He was in a hospital bed, but it wasn't at headquarters.

An auburn- haired nurse walked in carrying a chart and smiled at him.

"Why hello there Mr. Solo. Everything is going to be all right. You were in a car accident and you're in Lenox Hill Hospital."

Napoleon hesitated, trying to recall the incident but everything seemed so jumbled. He'd been at a bar? He remembered Tavern On The Green... with who? Sheila Murphy. Suddenly an image of Kuryakin flashed into his head."

"Illya?"

" _Illya?"_ The nurse repeated.

"My friend. He was with me. Small, blond all the ladies say he's cute, though I don't see it."

She laughed. "Oh him. He's cute all right but he's not very nice. Your friend Mr. Kuryakin as ripped off his leads twice, thrown a bed pan, decorated the wall with lime jello and threatened, in several languages I might add, to do bodily harm to the staff."

"Yeah, that's him. He doesn't like hospitals. Was he badly hurt?"

"No, dislocated shoulder. We were finally able to get him to swallow something to knock him out. Is he always such a pain in the…"

"Only when he's hospitalized," Napoleon chuckled.

"Well both of you were pretty lucky; nothing broken. Doctor Michaels wants to keep both of you for observation since you were both knocked out. He also has a concern for the number of scars that you both have. Are you two accident prone? Or are you into something kinky?"

"No, just work related injuries."

"What the heck kind of work do you two do?"

Napoleon smiled."Sorry, but I'm not at liberty to say. What happened to the driver who hit us?"

"He took the worst of it, but he'll recover."

"That's good news." He gazed at the nurse, staring directly into her eyes before he smiled at her.

"I have to leave, so does my friend. Maybe I could take you out to dinner when I'm feeling better?"

"Nice try Mr. Solo. If I had a nickle for every time a patient said that to me, I could retire and move to Hawaii."

"Listen," Napoleon leaned forward, looking at her name badge," Nurse Palmer I work for an organization that gives excellent medical care so Mr. Kuryakin and I will be signing ourselves out. I know we can do that."

She said nothing, but looked rather miffed. "We'll see about that."

"Now among my possessions was a silver pen, if you could get it for me please; I ah, need to write a note...to the head of the hospital telling him of your excellent care."

She reached into the night table drawer and pulled out the communicator, handing it to him, but seriously doubted that's what he was doing.

"Thank you, if you don't mind, I'd like a little privacy?" Solo winked at her.

Nurse Palmer screwed up her face, not quite understanding, but she complied.

As soon as she was gone he assembled his communicator.

"Open channel D. Mr. Waverly please."

There was momentary static before the voice of his boss replied, and he didn't sound very happy.

"Mr. Solo, where the devil are you? And do you know where you partner is?"

"We were in a car accident early this morning sir and are currently being treated at Lenox Hill Hospital. Mr. Kuryakin was picking me up from...a location that I've been scouting out for suspected mob connections."

"Oh, well," Waverly harrumphed. "Still I don't understand why Mr. Kuryakin was with you; he was involved as he was supposed to be covering the night shift in Communications."

"Yes sir, I called him to help me with the surveillance."

"And what did that surveillance reveal?"

"Umm, nothing sir. The purported mobsters never showed. We were on our way back to headquarters when the accident happened."

"Very well then. File a report when you return. I take it both of you are mobile?"

"Yes sir, we'll be checking ourselves out if the medical staff here cooperates. Perhaps a phone call from you might expedite matters?"

"Very well," Waverly sighed." Next time you decide to eavesdrop on purported mobsters, please notify me ahead of time on your plan. That way you will not have to pull Mr. Kuryakin away from his assigned duty to pick you up at a bar at one in the morning, and by doing so he wrecks yet another UNCLE vehicle," the Old Man clicked his tongue."Then again, it wasn't his fault. Upon your return to headquarters you both are to report to Medical for a check up, no arguments. Out." Waverly was obviously annoyed.

Napoleon ran his fingers through his hair. "How the hell did the Old Man know these things?"

Several minutes later a fully dressed Kuryakin walked rather gingerly into his partner's room, and carefully lowered himself into the chair next to the bed.

"I thought they knocked you out tovarisch?"

"As did they, but I merely palmed the pill. I decided to give my complaining a rest along with my body. I am quite sore. Sorry about the accident, It was careless of me taking my eyes off the road for that split second."

"Not your fault, he came out of nowhere. You wouldn't have been able to avoid it."

Nurse Palmer walked into the room, startled that Illya was sitting there.

"Hey you were supposed to be sedated, how the heck...nevermind. I don't think I want to know. Anyway, it seems that you two are being sprung after all. Someone with a lot of pull made a phone call to the head of the hospital, and that as they say is that."

She reached into the closet and took out Napoleon's clothes.

"So still not going to tell me what you two do for a living?"

"I could," Napoleon smiled again," but then I'd have to kill you."

Nurse Palmer's face drained of all its color. She looked to Illya, who merely shrugged. The woman handed over the clothing and quickly left without another word.

"You know, saying that never gets old," Napoleon threw back the sheets as he chuckled.

"Enough jocularity, now get dressed. I want to stop and have some decent food before we get to headquarters."

"Sounds like you're feeling better, Solo laughed.

"I will when I get to eat, now hurry up."

"All right all right, keep your shirt on."

"No my friend it is you who needs to _put_ your shirt _on_ ,"Illya chuckled."

"Har-dee-har-har," Napoleon snickered."You're a regular comedian Kuryakin."


End file.
